Teaspoon and other dinnerware sets
by Maxgray
Summary: „It's part of you, but it doesn't define who you are now." He looked at the faded Dark Mark, which he allowed Astoria to reveal in public after many months. He felt uncertainty and the urge to look around the silent library, but he couldn't look away from her thin fingers as they lightly traced the lines of that hated tattoo. Beta by amazing NurseDarry.


**903 days after the war**

The nails on his right hand dug deeper into his thigh clothed in black, trying to control the urge to reach for the throttling knot on his silver tie.

Either it wanted to choke him or the overheated and brightly lit room was trying to. His nose was starting to itch from the strong smell of cinnamon and ginger. Regular ticking of the clock over the wide oak door did not add much to his nervousness either.

He sat in an exaggeratedly comfortable chair and couldn't relax, especially with the searching glances of the middle-aged man that was facing him. The man hadn't said anything, for twenty-seven minutes he'd been looking at the files in a manila folder he'd brought, and the only response was occasional and thoughtful ‚hmmm'.

Twenty-eight.

He tore his eyes from the damned ticking clock when Theodor McGrath gave a deep and heavy sigh. That could mean two things.

He kept thinking ‚just don't be bad news, please just don't be bad n-'

„I'm afraid that I have bad news for you, Mr. Malfoy."

It was a shock, but in truth, he expected his world to collapse. Now he felt only a gentle earthquake.

„According to your records and recommendations from professors, you have excellent results."

Of course, he was one of the best in the year, he did additional NEWTs with honors.

„And I would definitely love to welcome you to the hospital, but the problem is that we don't have a vacancy. Many students come from your institute for the practice, their numbers are slowly approaching a triple digits, and to make matters worse, we need to free up opportunities for permanent staff. All in all..."

To put it simply, there is no room for someone with the name Malfoy.

„Mr. McGrath, but I need the practice, we have it in the study plan-"

„Mr. Malfoy, try another hospital, it's not possible in ours."

If another hospital looked as good as St. Mungo's Hospital on his resume, he would certainly not be sitting in front of its director right now. He quickly drove away the growing anger, clenched his teeth until his jaw visibly and unattractively tightened, and forced his muscles into something that was supposed to resemble a kind smile. Or rather a less disgusted grimace.

„I understand, Sir. Thank you for your time."

He stood up from the chair and tried to not hold the files McGrath was giving him back too tightly.

„I'm really sorry, Mr. Malfoy."

After the war, the whole Wizarding World was full of liars.

**905 days after the war**

„And your father still suggested that you bribe the hospital's director?"

„Like always. But my mother explained to him very quickly that no one is interested in our money anymore. Please, give me the essence of belladonna. And don't forget that it has to be neutralized to eighty percent."

The Potions classroom for students working on the fourth, penultimate degree of difficulty was flooded with white light penetrating through the tall windows. It was freezing outside and people expected snow at any moment, but according to the folks that were paid for it, snowfall would come in two weeks, not sooner.

The room was heated only by fires burning under the cauldrons, where the pair of students designated at the beginning of the year stood. Draco Malfoy leaned over the bubbling elixir of pale blue color, the shade of which was also confirmed by the wise books and instructions of their arrogant professor. That one walked from one bench to the other, glancing at what everyone had done in two hours. When he was near their cauldron, he gave them raised eyebrows and tightened lips.

Draco carefully took the tube with purple liquid from his classmate Astoria Greengrass and held it for a brief moment against the light.

„It's seventy-nine percent, but you're getting better."

Peripherally he could see Astoria grimacing at him, but he opened the cap without further unnecessary nagging. He was demanding on his partner in Potions class, but this was his strongest subject, so he had high demands both on himself and her. Everything had to be perfect.

Now, however, one percent meant nothing.

He firmly held his right hand over the testing cauldron and counted the drops he added to the potion exactly after two hours and thirteen minutes, as his notes from Monday's lecture advised. He glanced around the classroom and unconsciously caught a couple three benches away, looking in his direction.

Of course, they immediately and discreetly turned back.

He was not very popular with his classmates – in fact, almost all the students and three-quarters of the faculty hated him. Except for Astoria Greengrass and her boyfriend Roderick Collingwood, no one else was talking to him.

His mother had legitimate reasons for not wanting him to return to the seventh year at Hogwarts and to apply to the Dilys Derwent Institute of Medicine, because she'd expected just such a reception from Wizarding society.

After the war, they'd gone to the Malfoy summer residence in France for a year, hiding from their own mistakes and consequences, being safe from the poisonous tongues and condemning glances that haunted them with every visit in Diagon Alley. His parents preferred not to go there anymore.

When he could not rely on favoritism, Draco had to rely on his own abilities that were oftentimes lacking. Nothing except books in the library helped him with his studies; he did extra work and still couldn't win the favor of his professors. Thousands of doors were closed because of his past actions, and every day he was unpleasantly reminded of this fact.

„Malfoy, stop with the self-pity." Astoria disturbed his brooding, and with a swift movement grazed the flat sides of the knife against the edge of the wooden desk. She ignored the black slimy residue even when it smeared her protective apron. In many places the fabric been burnt from more dangerous ingredients.

There were two cauldrons on the table – one testing that he was working on, and the other with the resultant potion, for which they would get a mark at the end of the class. Astoria has been attending it, and she followed the instructions and notes carefully.

„Look, we both know what you have to do. Professor Slughorn's recommendation is respectable, but it means nothing in the medical world, as everyone knows that he can be influenced. Professors Monaghan and Robinson are great, but they won't get you anywhere. You need someone big behind you to whom no one will say no, you understand?"

He stirred the liquid in the cauldron with a long spoon fourteen times clockwise while frowning increasingly deeper and deeper at the obviously well-meaning advice of his classmate.

„Let's say you're right. Who do you think I should impress?"

After Astoria added the thinly sliced fluxweed to the concoction, she lifted her head and with great meaning looked at the back of their Potion professor.

Draco couldn't help himself, he burst into derisive chuckle bordering with desperation.

Espen Cawley had been awarded the Second Class Order of Merlin for his merits in alchemy, and his distant relative was Damocles Belby, the famous inventor of the lycanthropy-treating Wolfsbane Potion. He had taught at this institution for over a decade and has been actively involved in charity collections for families affected by the Second Wizarding War. He hated the dark side. And he hated Draco.

„You can't be serious." He looked at Astoria standing beside him, who regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

„What else do you want to do? He works closely with the hospital, supplying them with healing potions and every student he has recommended has apprenticed there, and is now working there too. You can try other professors, but you can be sure of him."

„Stir your potion," he warned Astoria after a long moment of silence, wanting to distract her. But as soon as she checked the fire under the cauldron, she swung back toward him with her smooth ponytail whistling through the air.

„I talked to Roderick about school," she began, but he interrupted her with exaggerated eye roll.

„I really think that you are with him just to get more information about tests," he remarked for the fourth time in their short-living friendship, to which Astoria responded only by shrugging her shoulders. She was Slytherin after all, manipulation and using someone for their own benefit were well-known practices.

„Well, so, I talked to Roderick and he told me about his first Potions test with Professor Cawley. Of course, our testing will be a few levels harder, but basically he will get us to prepare the potions that affect the mind of person, as almost none of the students can handle it without practice. Our whole term is devoted to healing potions only, according to the study plan."

„That calculating bastard," whispered Draco Malfoy through his tightly pressed teeth and glared at his professor with a fierce look before he turned back to Astoria.

„He wants to keep only the best, he doesn't want to give others a chance, because they will waste his time."

„Do you know which potions we will have on our exam?"

Astoria nodded slowly and replied: „Amortentia and Draught of the Living Death."

„But almost no one can do them without practice!" Draco indignantly raised his voice, earning a few irritated murmurs from the other classmates, at which he glared in return.

Well then. Maybe he should have listened to his mother's words and stayed put in his parents' home, far away from Wizarding society. They would find him a suitable wife. He would have a suitable heir. They would lead a suitable life.

This was a waste of time.

**956 days after the war**

His hands slipped with each firm grip on another unstable part of the furniture. He could feel sweat tickling his back, his clothes stuck to his body, and he let out a frustrated sigh as the flaming wood broke under his right leg.

The heat was so unbearable that he could feel the burning of the fabric of his expensive suit.

He was afraid of his own death as much as he was afraid of the death of others, and yet he reacted without hesitation when something grabbed him around the ankle and pulled him down.

„No, no, please, no!" He didn't recognize his own voice as he struggled to grasp things above his head, trying to find balance. He kicked his foot into something soft and continued to escape from the fire that already had burned half the room.

„Draco!" Reason told him not to turn, not to stop, but his conscience and another cry of his name forced him to look down.

From Crabbe's red and sweaty face gazed the look of a desperate man in front of whom Draco wanted to close his eyes, but it forced him to hang for a few seconds longer on a wobbly tower, after which only ash would remain.

If he followed logic, he would know that Crabbe's heavy body would pull them both down, that he shouldn't even try, because if they both died, it wouldn't make sense. He reached out a shaking hand toward his friend, but when Crabbe immediately grabbed for it, the burning wood broke under his weight, and he slid a few inches closer to the ground, where the flames were already licking everything.

Shocked screams full of pain paralyzed him for a moment and reminded him of what might soon be his end, so he returned to climbing. Tears, sweat, and smoke stung in his eyes, and a terrified moan came from his throat as he felt a touch of fire on his exposed ankle.

An unknown beeping sound reached his ears and-

-and roughly pulled him out of sleep. He threw the papers off his desk as he tried to keep his balance on the chair.

It was just a dream. Just an ordinary nightmare like any other. Like every other day.

He reached for the timer to turn off the annoying noise. He had set the alarm for the Amortentia which was calmly bubbling above the sixty-degree fire.

„Lacewing flies, two grams," he muttered under his nose as his body worked on autopilot and clumsily followed the commands of a sleepy brain. As the color of the elixir turned to ruby, he yawned indecently and raised hands to his face to rub his eyes.

„No!" A frightened female scream stopped him in the middle of his movement, and only when someone grasped his wrists did he finally blink and look around.

„You're such an idiot, Malfoy! What is the first safety rule when preparing potions?! Never touch your own face if you have leftover ingredients on your fingers! You could be blinded!"

He opened his mouth to respond with an irritated comment, but closed it again without a word when he noticed the face of a hysterical Astoria Greengrass. Well, she had the right to such an exaggerated reaction, if there were real tears shining in her eyes.

It was a terrible sight, and he felt uncomfortable in her presence because he hated crying girls. He found them a little scary... and repulsive.

„What are you doing here?" Should he ask her what happened? Offer her a shoulder to cry on? Should he even comment on this? He looked at his arm for a long time and decided that it was not adapted to any outflows of emotion now.

„I came here for a few ingredients. I thought that no one would be here so late."

The large room was used by students for their projects outside the classroom, but at three in the morning, there was usually no one here indeed.

„You should get some sleep, Draco."

Did the dark circles under his eyes give him away, or the fact that he'd fallen asleep while cooking one of the most difficult potions ever? Draco didn't react, and to turn the attention away from himself, he asked, „What's the matter, Tori?"

There was silence for a few seconds, then she let out one deep sigh. Draco was certain that he heard the sound of an opening cap to the jar where Astoria had hidden all her feelings. She stood with a pocket full of ingredients a short distance from the table, the snowflakes on her black coat slowly melting at the temperature of the study, her eyes damp and long brown hair disheveled, as if she'd been running. Her face was smeared with tears that she tried to wipe, her nose and cheeks pink from the cold or from emotion. Or both.

„I broke up with Roderick."

Draco got one empathic ‚oh' out of himself.

„It turns out I'm not as heartless as I thought."

And then she threw herself on him with a sob. At first he wanted to push her away, but eventually he raised his numb hands and even hugged her more tightly while she was crying silently, leaning against that unsuitable shoulder. He could feel Astoria's tears on the skin of his neck, which he thought would never happen. He was sorry, but didn't she say she'd dumped Roderick? So why was she crying now?

„By the way, congratulations on your engagement with Daphne."

Oh, yes. Her older sister. It was still fresh information. A suitable wife chosen by his parents.

„Thank you." His response was as heartfelt as Astoria's congratulations. There was no sincerity in either.

„You should go to sleep," she whispered after another five-minute's silence that was only interrupted by her quiet sobs. She tightened her grip around Draco's neck.

„I'll go," he said, looking at the dark corner of the room. He pulled her closer.

**1001 to 1357 days after the war**

Professor Cawley wrote in his file a recommendation highlighting Draco's qualities, so on his first day at the practice he got a bucket with a brush and had to clean all the toilets on all the floors of the hospital. He couldn't use his wand.

He suppressed his own tears of humiliation even between the tiled walls where no one could see him. He swallowed the insults and invectives that kept springing to his mind when his small and pudgy boss with the patience of shot glass raised his voice. Draco's blood pressure increased every morning as he watched boss's wide purple face and little black eyes which looked at him with disgust.

The rest of the staff didn't treat him so badly, there were some exceptions too, but mostly he did dirty jobs, and did not care for patients.

Already after the first three weeks, he was fed up with everything and was only a small step away from giving up.

The school grew over his head.

His parents were organizing his wedding and were the only ones looking forward to it.

At his fiancée Daphne's every word, he felt like he would start screaming.

And so what if they would think he was crazy. At least he would finally have peace.

„Just imagine their faces when you become a healer. Imagine how they will look at you, how they will be ashamed of all their doubts. And imagine the feeling of having these days over and achieving what you always wanted."

He looked over the edge of the book he held open in front of him and stared at Astoria's smile.

„No, Tori, I'm tired of this, I don't see any sense... I've been looking at this book for an hour and can't understand the words, not yet a whole sentences." He resigned cowardly.

His concentration got to freezing point, which had also shown in the last Potions exam, of which he got three points out of eighteen.

Professor Cawley hadn't been in such a good mood like that day for a long time.

„Hey, come on, Draco," said Astoria cautiously, leaning over the table to put away the thick textbook he was hiding behind.

„I can't say I know how difficult it is because I can't even imagine. Our study plan is particularly challenging even for an ordinary mortal who doesn't have half of the Wizarding World against them. At the end of the third year, there will be only a few of us left and I can see you among them. You really enjoy healing and you're great at it, and the fact that unjust people throw logs under your feet is simply part of the life and you cannot be intimidated by it. It is normal to make mistakes and it is normal to pay for them, but you also have to learn from them and don't let them drag you down. You have to move on. So..." She fell silent and grabbed his left wrist, which was bandaged. She slowly began to unwind the bandage, not stopping even when he jerked his hand three times, trying to escape.

„You have to stop hiding it. It's natural that you're ashamed, but it's in your past and that you will not change. It's part of you, but it doesn't define who you are now."

He looked at the faded Dark Mark, which he allowed Astoria to reveal in public after many months. He felt uncertainty and the urge to look around the silent library, but he couldn't look away from her thin fingers as they lightly traced the lines of that hated tattoo.

„To hell with them," she whispered with a smile and went back to her homework.

If it hadn't been for Astoria Greengrass and her wise speech that afternoon, he would have given up a long ago.

* * *

At the beginning of the second year, Draco began admitting patients at the reception of St. Mungo's Hospital while his classmates walked in the corridors with working doctors and assisted in treatment and surgery. His only advantage was that he no longer had to clean the toilets.

He was checking his homework on advanced general magical biology and sat at a white counter with a young colleague Carly on a night shift in the hospital. A few times a patient from the upper floor might pass by them, but otherwise there was complete peace and quiet.

„Flying death, eight letters," said the blonde sitting beside him, momentarily distracting Draco's attention from describing the first symptoms of the dragon pox. He looked her way, but she still had her nose buried in a crossword on the last page of the Daily Prophet. She was probably just talking to herself, since she rarely communicated with him. And mostly at the level of „yes", „no", „hmmm".

The hospital door swung open and two figures entered the entrance hall - one looking as though on the brink of consciousness and the other who supported them.

He and his colleague immediately jumped to their feet and rushed to them, but Draco Malfoy paused in the middle of his motion when he saw Harry Potter's white, sweaty face. His clothes were soaked in blood and he was missing a great deal of his right arm.

„We were on an Auror's mission," the breathless and trembling Auror who firmly hold the body of the Chosen One began to explain. Or Savior. Or whatever those damned newspapers were calling him these days, "when one of the wanted Death Eaters surprised us and started attacking us. After a few minutes he was joined by his other comrades, who we had no idea were there too, so we retreated, but Harry ... He split while apparating." Draco had never heard anyone speak so fast in his life, the Auror spilled all of the information in one breath. Apart from a few scratches, he looked fine.

„We have to call Dr. Peterson, he-" Draco's colleague Carly began, but he interrupted her very quickly:

„He's in the operating room."

„But if we call him, he'll-"

She tried in vain. Draco was already helping to hold Potter, and with the second Auror carried him to the nearest emergency room.

„We don't have time for Peterson, Carly! Potter will bleed to death before he comes!" Draco hissed at her through clenched teeth and pushed his back into the door. Her weak protests were lost in the hallway.

With a loud ‚uff', they laid Potter's body on the table, and it took Draco a few seconds to find what he needed in the emergency room. He was doing this for the first time, and was afraid that the vials with elixirs would fall out of his shaking hands, but the reflexes of a Seeker woke up at the right moment. Potter was mumbling something, and Draco had to hold him down a few times as he was stirring because of pain.

„Lucky you didn't split your brain, you idiot," Draco growled softly as he dropped Dictamnus Albus on the exposed wound to stop the bleeding. He held his breath at the rising green smoke and gave the other Auror a grateful look for his quiet assistance. Their cooperation was tense, but smooth, and after almost six minutes, he was able to pull a bandage from a drawer to wrap up Potter, which meant they were out of danger.

„Ennervate," he whispered, his wand pointed at the chest of his eternal rival, and as soon as Potter took a deep breath, Draco poured a pale blue elixir down his throat.

„Hey! What the-... Malfoy?! Did I die and go to hell?!"

He should have expected such an embarrassing reaction. He didn't answer, just tightened the bandage around Potter's wounded bicep where meat and skin were slowly growing. Maybe he was tightening the bandage too hard, but he allowed himself take out the rage a little.

„Your whole arm should grow back within three hours," Draco said after securing the bandage and gnawed at his tongue to stop himself from a biting retort. He could think of thousands, especially some really mean ones. „I gave you a concoction for pain, so you won't whine like a small schoolgirl."

He tried! He really, really tried!

„I don't whine-" began outraged Potter, but his words were interrupted when the emergency room's door flew open.

„Mr. Potter, I'm here!" Breathless, Dr. Peterson came inside and Draco's colleague Carly approached too.

Draco glared at her with a hostile Malfoy look.

„I think you'll find, Doctor, that Mr. Malfoy has already done everything." Potter's associate intervened with a deep voice, but Draco wanted to get out of the room to return to his work. Only in the hallway he did realize that he had Potter's blood all over himself.

„Malfoy, stop!"

He turned on his heel to find himself face to face with Ramon Peterson, who burned holes in him with an angry look.

„What you did will not happen again, do you understand?"

„What? So I should stop treating injured people when you're in surgery and all the other doctors are on holiday?"

„I came as fast as I could, you had no business being in the emergency room; you don't have enough qualifications and experience to use the medical supplies and treat our patients. You've broken the rules, Malfoy."

He couldn't have heard that right. He stared in disbelief at the tall man in front of him, whom apparently was waiting from the beginning for Draco to make a mistake.

„I'm sorry, next time I'll let Potter bleed to death and take some photos of him, so the Daily Prophet can put them on the headlines."

Though he bit his tongue so hard that he could sense the taste of iron in his mouth, the sarcastic comment found its way out nevertheless.

„There will be no more next time. Your practice is now over."

„Excuse me?"

„You heard me. Leave the hospital."

He stood in place for about half a minute with his mouth agape before he made sense of everything that had happened. He looked at the door of the emergency room one last time, then angrily walked away.

**1376 days after the war**

Draco and Astoria sat in a tea shop in the center of Muggle London, where people did not recognize him, and were contentedly stirring hot drinks with teaspoons. They'd come to celebrate, even though they were both exhausted after a hard week at school.

„Congratulations on your promotion. I thought they wouldn't want to hear about you after what happened that night."

The smiling waitress paused for a moment at their table by the window facing the busy street, and once they assured her that they had everything, she left and gave them some privacy.

„Thanks. Probably someone spoke for me."

Someone with a complex of a hero. He still did not have a courage to send a letter to Potter with one short but eloquent 'thank you'.

„That's favoritism, Malfoy. But I'm glad they came to their senses. Now you'll show them all what a great talent you have," Astoria teased him over her cup of black tea, but she added a little truth in every word. She drank like a lady, holding her pinky up high. Upbringing of a Pureblood and wealthy family had in many cases also touched ordinary things. They ordered dessert, which were brought to them on small porcelain plates with tasteless flowers painted on the edges, and both of them wrinkled their noses in disgust.

„You know, my parents are still angry with you because of the canceled engagement."

„And Daphne?"

„She doesn't care. You two have barely spoken in six years at school, you can't expect that she will mourn the rejection of Draco Malfoy. Plus, she has more appropriate suitors, your value on the marriage market dropped significantly after the war."

When the offended expression settled on his face, she merely laughed lightly and turned away. She watched the people walking down the street outside the window with pale green eyes, while Draco watched how she occasionally lifted her upper lip when she spotted someone with bad fashion sense, or frowned when she saw someone interesting that had earned a deeper thought in her mind, or how she twisted her mouth in amusement when she saw someone ridiculous. Her eyes followed the strangers rushing from left to right and Draco would now give anything to know what Astoria was thinking.

He opened his mouth to ask her, but what instead came out of him was:

„I love you."

For a few long seconds there was no response. At first he thought Astoria hadn't heard him. Then he thought he hadn't actually said it, that it got stuck somewhere in the middle. When he came up with the third theory, Astoria turned away from the window, blinked a few times, and with her widest and happiest smile forced Draco's heart to miss a beat.

„Finally."


End file.
